


Alien Lullaby

by KinkyGrrlDiane (AnneTaylor)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/KinkyGrrlDiane
Summary: Alex Krycek is locked in hell with an alien. He suspects that Mulder is dead.
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder
Kudos: 6





	Alien Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little snippet that came to me one day. It's a possible jump-off point to other places.

It’s dark.  
There’s an alien lullaby in my head. You know how when you’ve seen a horror movie dozens of times until you know it so well that it gets boring, almost comforting in its familiarity, and you can fall asleep, even when the monster is oozing under the door as the heroine lies dozing in her bubble bath…  
It’s like that.  
Sort of.  
Only it isn’t just a sound track and a picture on a screen. It’s alive, in the dark with me. A clotted mass of moving, slithering darkness that sings to my terror and waits until I’m asleep before disappearing back into that manhole cover that leads to god knows what. Some kind of ship. For all I know there’s a cesspool down there; it certainly looks like something that would be perfectly at home in one.  
Yeah, Mulder. I believe in aliens.  
There’s an irony here. Wish I could appreciate it.

Sometimes I think I hear your voice. When I’m right on the edge of sleep, and my mind is drifting through the memories of days long past. I hear your voice, or sometimes I just catch a whiff of Old Spice.  
Usually, I know you’re not really down here with me. Sometimes I just hope you’re not.  
Maybe this is your idea of a last joke. Haunting me like this.  
I didn’t have any choice, Mulder. Just this once, can you try and believe me?  
My memories of it all fade in and out. I was driving. We crashed. You were bleeding, I think. Badly. Then I was…out of the car. I don’t remember looking back as they dragged me away from you. Was there a gunshot? I don’t know. I can’t trust my memory any more.  
It wanted to let loose on you earlier, wanted to burn you, to melt your flesh so you wouldn’t be following us, and again, later, when they were trying to force us off the road. I think it crashed the car on purpose to get rid of you.  
It needed my memories, though. It’s not like you can actually make a deal with an animate pool of sewage, but whenever it reached for my memories I would fight for a little more control. It had no choice other than to allow me to leak into its…well, thoughts isn’t the right word, is it now? I’m not sure what is. Not important.  
Problem is, now it’s doing the same to me. I get to share what goes on in the mind of a joined collective of oily slugs, trapped in a hot, dry, fierce world that burns and torments and mocks us with its silence.  
Lucky me.  
Did I just say us?  
Please.  
Come for me, Mulder. I’m sorry I let you die.


End file.
